Adventures in Table Building
by prplemyth
Summary: Percy and Annabeth decide to assemble a new dining room set for Sally's birthday, but it's not as easy as they had expected. Percabeth oneshot with Punk!Percy and a whole lot of snark. I hope you enjoy!


_A/N: This was written for my friend Sophie on tumblr (writeme-awayfromhere) for her birthday! And because Punk!Percy is fun. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"I told you we should have just gotten the twenty dollar delivery and assembly," says Annabeth as Percy struggles to carry his side of the box through the door. "But no, Mr. Prophecy Boy thinks it's a good idea to haul an entire goddamned table up three flights of stairs." They make it mostly up the stairs without any problems – Percy gets his chain on his pants caught on the handrail and Annabeth has to do some fancy physics work to prop up the giant box and unhook him before they can make it up the final flight of stairs – and then they finally get it in the apartment.

"That was horrible," whines Percy, collapsing against the door frame. His usually well-mussed Mohawk is drooping into his eyes, and he pushes it back off his face. "Maybe you were right about the free delivery thing."

"Now you admit I'm right," grumbles Annabeth.

Annabeth spends the first few minutes of being home trying to find a box cutter in Sally Jackson's kitchen, but Percy gets so annoyed with waiting that he draws his sword and slices the box with Anaklusmos and deals with it when Annabeth grumbles about how he could have damaged the table.

"So where do we start with this?" asks Percy, kneeling beside Annabeth and opening the box. "Hera's handbags, that's a lot of parts."

Annabeth, too, is staring down at the box in horror. "Gods, it's one table and four chairs. Why the hell are there, like, six billion parts?"

Percy shakes his head looking nervous. "I knew the box was too small to be an easy assembly." He turns to Annabeth. "Think we could convince someone to put it together for us?"

"No," she replies, "we promised to get this table together, so that your mom'll come home tonight and see her brand new dining room set up without her having to do a damned thing. While we're speaking of that, have you seen those pictures of you as a baby in the bathtub around? I'm thinking an entire wall of that."

Percy snorts and shoves Annabeth's arm. "We are not putting that up."

"That might be an addition to her birthday present."

As Percy stares at her in horror, she gets to work on bringing out the pieces of the new dining room set.

* * *

"For fuck's sake!" Percy screams. He's hopping around on one foot, and Annabeth bites back a hysterical laugh as she realizes there's a brand new, not-so-intentional hole in the bottom of her boyfriend's already ripped jeans. "I can attack a freaking Titan but I can't put together a goddamned kitchen table? This is ridiculous!"

"Maybe you should consider not dropping the thing on your foot next time," she says from where she's hammering together a couple of chairs.

"Maybe you should consider shutting up," he grumbles, but Annabeth laughs.

"Now, now, Percy, don't get mad at me when it's really the inanimate object that's pissing you off."

He turns to her and glares. "You know, it's your fault you decided to do this for my mom's birthday. Why couldn't we have just baked her a cake?"

Annabeth flips through the manual to try and figure out which direction the leg is supposed to face. "Because we both know that the last time I tried to go anywhere near a stove your mother's favorite oven mitt caught on fire." Percy can see a smile from behind the manual. "And we all know how sad she was to find out that your third grade final art project got torched."

Percy chuckles. "You've got a point, there." He sighs and leans over the table, staring at her. "But I have to say, my gift is going to be so much better."

This finally gets Annabeth to look up from the manual. "I thought this was your gift," she says carefully. "Percy, what in Zeus' sweet corset did you do and how dead is your mom going to make you?"

He sends her that annoying, stupid, dumb-ass grin as he starts pulling off his shirt.

"Oh sweet boiling Hades, not again," she groans, dropping her head into her hands. "You didn't get another tattoo."

"I got another tattoo!" he exclaims, and he's so jubilant that Annabeth's incapable of not looking up. There it is, under his left collarbone, "Mom," written in the clear blue script that exactly matches his mother's eyes. The lettering looks like it's written in blue water, like waves are painted into Percy's skin. It's perfect for Percy and it's perfect for Sally, and Annabeth knows that Sally's going to think it's both ridiculous and the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

"When did you even do that?!" Annabeth exclaims.

"This morning," he offers, looking down at it. "Giving it a re-application of the lotion in a few minutes if you want to help me." He sends her this absolutely stupid wink and she can't keep from laughing.

"What gave you this idea, Percy?" she asks. "Why'd you have to one up my brilliant idea?"

He shrugs. "Mom's always liked my art – I mean, once the SPQR tattoo fiasco of 2010 got all over with – because it's better than when I painted on the walls." He smiles at Annabeth, who's trying to ignore the fact that Percy's body is more of a canvas than skin now. She's mapped every tattoo with her fingers, her lips, her eyes. He's like a portrait of himself, and now he really does wear his heart on his sleeve. "And, you know, I like it mostly because of where I put it. I think my mom'll agree."

"You just want to show off your pecs more often," says Annabeth with an eyeroll, but she finds herself gently touching the spot where, below her shirt, the lightning bolt that's struck across her own heart sits, matching the one on Percy's chest.

"No, Annabeth, look," he says, "my two favorite people now have a place over my heart."

Annabeth sighs. "I know you're trying to make me feel all mushy and gushy, but right now I'm just annoyed that you managed to make me set up this table and crap knowing you wouldn't be able to help out all the way. Totally not cool."

He leans against the table. "What, are you kidding me? This thing's almost done!"

That's when the table collapses beneath him and he lands flat on his back in front of Annabeth.

"You're so damned lucky that didn't land on me," she says breezily, returning to the manual. "And, seriously, it is a pretty tattoo. But next time ink up when you're not on the job."

He rolls up to standing and tries to figure out where to start again with the construction. "Believe me," he says, "I'm never offering to build a table again."

* * *

Two hours, three hammered fingers, eight curses, two arguments about which table leg goes where, and one fight that turned into an impromptu twenty minute makeout later, the table's still only partly done and Percy's tattoo has been lotioned twice.

Percy can tell that Annabeth's getting exasperated and annoyed. The work is boring and complicated at the same time, and Percy can tell it's beginning to piss off that Athena brain of hers that she the manual just isn't making sense.

"You know what it is?" Percy asks.

"Do I know what what is?" Annabeth replies absentmindedly, trying to figure out where the thing that looks partly like a tampon and partly like a screw goes in the chair.

"It's that we're sober," he says, so matter of fact that Annabeth says, "sure, right, okay," before she processes what he's saying.

"What did you just say?"

"We're too sober," he repeats, and he stands up, offering a hand to Annabeth. "My mom's got a bottle of wine in the fridge. I can't see her being too pissed about us stealing her booze when we're doing her a favor."

Annabeth just stares at him. "The last time we took her wine, she took my laptop and your wallet and told us that we had to clean the bathroom before we were allowed out of your apartment again."

"She was exaggerating."

Annabeth snorts. "Yeah, you said that, and then she made you clean the kitchen."

Percy frowns. "Fair point. We'll break into the vodka."

"The vodka?!" Annabeth exclaims. "That's Paul's!"

"And the last time he opened it was three weeks ago, when he tried to teach me how to make screwdrivers."

Annabeth sighs for what feels like the millionth time that day. "Fine," she concedes, "fine, make me a screwdriver or something. And if you hit yourself with a hammer because you get drunk, I'm calling your mom so we can make fun of you together."

Percy rolls his eyes. "You got mean when alcohol was brought up."

Annabeth gives him the Don't-Test-Me look. "I got mean when you broke the table."

Percy's got nothing on that one. He makes them each a drink, and after a few sips both drinks sit forgotten on the kitchen counter, because Annabeth thinks she's finally figured out how to drill the plastic tampon screw into the table, ("Apparently you had to bend it." "How the hell did you bend metal, Annabeth?" "Skills.") and Percy's finally come up with a system to put the chairs together that doesn't take them forty minutes and six arguments.

They're silent for a long time as they work, the playlist Percy put on when they made the drinks pounding in the distance, and neither of them are quite sure when or how the playlist switched from Bikini Kill to Backstreet Boys, and neither of them particularly care.

Then, suddenly, Annabeth looks up. "I think I've got the table almost figured out," she announces. Percy feels his face light up.

"Are we going to be done with this in one day?" he exclaims. "Are we done?"

"Not quite," she says, making her way back under the table, "but soon. If we do a little more work on the – is that your phone ringing?"

Percy listens for a second and then hears it. He gets up and runs to the kitchen. "Hello?" he asks.

"Percy, sweetie," says Sally, "good, you're home."

"Hey, Mom," he replies. "How's the birthday going?"

She sighs happily, and he can tell from her tone of voice that Paul did a good job with her birthday gifts this year. "It's absolutely wonderful, Percy, absolutely great."

"What'd Paul get you?" he asks.

"That's actually why I'm calling," she begins, sounding careful, "he got me a vacation. I'm going to be out until Monday morning."

He pulls the phone away and stares at it. The house alone for a full weekend. Was she serious? "You're not going to be back until when?"

"Oh, Percy, I'm sorry," Sally replies, and Percy realizes he must have sounded way more disappointed than he intended when he replied, "but Paul surprised me with a weekend down at Montauk and he just told me when he picked me up from work. But you can have a friend or two over – just no crazy parties." Percy hears mumbling in the background, then hears his mother saying, "No, Paul, he cannot use emergency money for pizza, alcohol or strippers."

"But Mom, I'm twenty one!" Percy complains lightheartedly. He can think of plenty of great things to do without any of that stuff.

"And none of it can be used for tattoos!" she adds. "We're heading through a tunnel – see you on Sunday, sweetie!"

And the phone calls is over.

Percy turns and sees Annabeth leaning against the doorframe. "We have another few days before she gets home?" she asks.

Percy nods, getting a glance at the table. He's suddenly disappointed that his mom won't be able to see all the work they had done before the day was over. "And we just finished the table."

Annabeth walks over to him, and he suddenly realizes that she's got that look on her face that's – oh, wait. He knows what that means.

Annabeth's eyes are dead locked on his, and he's finding that it's difficult to swallow, move, or do anything but think, "oh gods, oh gods," and start planning everything he wants to do to her in his head. In extreme detail. He was so not going to make it out of this conversation alive.

She looks pensive, like she's considering all the homework possibilities for the weekend, but there's something behind Annabeth's eyes that pretty much tell Percy that, nope, that's not where she's going with this at all. "Does that mean we have the apartment to ourselves for, I don't know, an entire weekend?"

Percy goes to respond, but his mouth is strangely dry and his voice is strangely gone. Annabeth's twirling the screwdriver around in her hands and he's inexplicably, inappropriately thinking about what other things her hands are so talented at doing and then whoops, his skinny jeans just got a little bit tighter.

Annabeth breaks eye contact finally, but her eyes slowly drag down and back up his body and she grins at him. Then, thank the gods, he thinks, Annabeth shrugs her flannel shirt off. She's wearing pink tank top underneath and, oh, gods, he definitely knows that look on her face.

"With all that time," she says, taking his hands and placing them on her hips, "we've got to find something to do."

Percy's searching for something snarky to say back, like, "Yeah, let's get our noses pierced then enter a Parcheesi tournament," but no matter how badass he looks, he's not as good at being sarcastic when Annabeth's seducing him in his empty apartment and she's looking at him like she wants him naked now. So when it comes out more like, "Yeah, we'll do a nose turn of cheese," he gives up and just pulls her against him, feeling her laughter turn into a soft sigh as he holds onto her tightly.

Soon, they break away, and Percy's pushing Annabeth's hair behind her ear, grinning at her. Percy loves the way his sleeve looks against Annabeth's pale skin, how it contrasts in color, and even more than that, he loves how it shivers in response to his touch.

"Would you stop admiring your tattoos and just take my clothes off already?" Annabeth complains, and he meets her eyes.

"As you wish," he mutters, and, before she can say anything, he's lifted her up. She locks her legs around his waist, and that grin of hers is back in full. Percy mouths kisses along her collarbone, the exposed part of her chest, until she leans back and pulls her own shirt off as he presses her against the wall.

"Hey!" he exclaims, muffled as bit as he tries to get untangled from Annabeth's shirt. "That was my job!"

"You were taking too long," she replies. She starts pulling at his shirt and they hear a loud rip as one of its holes catches on Percy's belt and it tears up the side.

Annabeth's eyes are wide when they meet Percy's, and all he can do is roll his eyes. It's only a shirt, anyway, and if it rips when he's about to have sex with Annabeth, then he can't think of a better way for it to go.

Then he comes up with an idea. Holding tightly to Annabeth, he carries her to the table and lays her down on it.

She gives him a different look this time, something that strangely resembles her I-think-something's-about-to-go-very-wrong look. "Percy, I'm not sure this is a –"

He pulls the rest of his shirt off and throws it at her, interrupting her, and she laughs as she bats it off of her stomach. "It's a great idea!"

"But what if it collapses?"

"Annabeth, have a little faith. It won't collapse."  
Thirty seconds later, when Percy's bracing his hands on the table to lean down and kiss Annabeth, the table collapses and his face is squashed into Annabeth's stomach after he loses his balance.

"You're lucky the table's low to the ground," Annabeth grumbles. "Now get your nose out of my stomach before I hit you with this – hey! The screw!" She holds up the one piece of the table that they hadn't been able to find.

"Looks like we missed the screw in two ways," grumbles Percy, and Annabeth can't stop laughing at him hard enough to hit him for the comment.


End file.
